Pyro On The Prowl
by Renzin
Summary: Alicia Austin; the sarcastic, kung fu fire mutant who aspires to become Deapool's official sidekick, has fucked up. After being kicked out of the Xmen for being reckless and slightly satanical, she wakes up from a self-pity LOFT movie marathon to find herself in the real Middle Earth dimension.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to either the Xmen or LOFT franchise. **

Summary: Alicia Austin; the sarcastic, kung fu fire mutant who aspires to become Deapool's official sidekick, has fucked up. After being kicked out of the Xmen for being reckless and slightly satanical, she wakes up from a self-pity LOFT movie marathon to find herself in the real Middle Earth dimension. She finds friends in the Fellowship, and takes up the mantle of 'hero' again. But even with a new calling, her companions are wary of her fiery temper, and her childish attitude to being in a war, not to mention her odd fascination with the dark forces…

Chapter 1

…"_Alicia."_

…_."Aliciaaaaaa."_

"_ALICIA!"_

"What! What happened who's attacking I swear on Logan's bike that I didn't do it-"

"We know, this is nothing to do with-"

"-I swear to god its Bobby's fault, he said the smell would be gone by now-"

"We'll talk about that later, but now we-"

"I know Wade's been calling non stop but I gave him the landline number instead of my mobiles'-"

"ALICIA!" Scott Summers yells, shaking my head in his hands, "JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN."

"….Sorryyyyy" I drag out the word and do my best abandoned puppy impression, pout and all. Scott seems pissed, not like the time Bobby and I hung condoms all around the danger room and locked him in with Jean; he kinda looks like he's about to throw his hands in the air. I snigger at the thought of Scott getting all sassy and saying _'ain't nobody got time for dat!'_.

"I swear to god we should've let you train with SHIELD, Alicia, at least Fury seems to be able to control you."

"Well _duhhhhh_, he's like a clone of Samuel L Jackson. People like that deserve to be in power and respected and stuff due to their level of awesomeness!"

I finally take in my surroundings arising from a lethargic afternoon nap in the common room couch. Scott, Kurt, Jean, Ororo, Bobby… well everyone actually, is all suited up and ready to go. I leap up, promising to be down in a sec, and change faster than a chameleon, which I promise you is no small feat for a latex/Kevlar suit. Probably the best part of the job, looking like goddamn Cassandra Cain (AKA Batgirl). It's a full on black catsuit, tight and ending at my wrists, ankles and half way up my neck, tracing my muscles and curves; a black plated belt that's attached to the suit hangs on my voluptuous hips coquettishly, with mini pouches and a hidden compartment behind the yellow 'X' buckle, admittedly only used for a pink lipstick and hair bands; a concave 'X' crosses in between my breasts; military style combat boots adorn my feet, making me feel like a badass Avril Lavigne; a bomber jacket hangs off of me with yellow detailing and a hidden comlink 'X' badge on the right breast. No guess which mutant team I'm from – the Avengers!

…I'm joking. *_Badum kah*_.

After a few seconds to prim and pose in the mirror and throw my derrière length, thick brown curls into a painfully tight high ponytail; I sprint downstairs and jam to my own rendition of 'Hips Don't Lie', only to stumble and glide gracefully down the last part of the staircase on my ass, landing in a pile at Scott's feet. Oh he does not look happy at _allllllllllll_.

"Alicia."

"Sorry, she's out, please leave a message after th-"

"Shut up." He growls.

"Okie dokieeeeee." I sing. Even when I get up to my full 5'10" height, I still feel small with my tail between my legs, and everyone staring at me. I shirk it off with a lopsided smirk and lay a hand on my hip. _Fake it till you make it, _and all that shit_._ But even Bobby, my partner in pranking crime, Mr 'Icaneat40burittosandstillbehungryformore', (who really can't control his stomach btw), is giving me this condescending look that guardians give when they see your report card.

Oh shit Scott's talking. He pinches the skin between his eyebrows and sighs heavily, reminding me of a prissy Captain Kirk. "Listen, I probably should've mentioned this before you woke up, but you're not coming with us Alicia." Ok I don't think I heard that right... "I've decided you need a time out on all further assignments until you can cooperate with the team better, so you're sitting this one out."

I make this '_pfttttttt_' noise like a French cat, or Remy LeBeau for that matter. "You and whose army Shades?"

"Are you being serious? You're not even going to learn from this are you?"

"Elaborate Scotty, I haven't even done anything to be grounded for!"

At this point my so-called '_teammates' _interject with eye rolling and a few '_oh really's and 'here we go's. _Spandex wearingtraitors. Oops here comes sassy Scott.

"One, you're always late for everything, even with an alarm clock-"

"Hey I'm a heavy sleeper!"

"Two, you always ignore all instructions and go solo on every single mission-"

"Just because you guys are so slow with all your stupid tactics!"

"Three, you keep running off to other teams without permission for weeks on end-"

"Yeah but know imma frickin' ninja now with Deadpool's nifty training-"

"_And you can't bloody be quiet you pretentious Pyro!"_ Ouch. "How the hell do you think you can get away with this stuff and still be considered part of this team; you're _18_ next week Alicia, but you still act like a fucking 8 year old. You're worse than Bobby was at your age, at least he's loyal to our team!"

I'm a little stunned, anchored down by this heavy feeling that drops in my stomach. Everyone's shocked into silence at Scott's rare loss of cool, who's now staring at me with clenched fists and panting like he's survived a 3 hour training session in the Danger Room.

"…Well my favourite Disney film is Peter Pan." Oh fuck my sarcastic defence mechanism. Immediately I know I've crossed the line. There's this sudden collective gasp, and Scott's icy glare is illuminated by his glowing red lenses. Oh shit. I never knew fear until today, not even Magneto's this terrifying.

Scott takes this shuddering breath, raises a finger at my chest and starts talking in this trembling low voice, as if its taking all his will power not to deck me back to Europe. "If you _ever_ grow up and gain some honour, then feel free to come back; but as of now, you are no longer part of the Xmen, and once you're 18 you will no longer be a member of Xavier's Institute." He rips of my comlink from my jacket, making me trip backwards onto the stairs with a yelp. "You're a disgrace to what we fight for, and you only care about messing about and personal glory. We can't count on you, and you disappear for weeks at a time for stupid reasons and your own endeavours. The only thing you've done right is excel in training, and even then you're not interested in working for the greater good, which leads us to the question you seriously need to answer and _soon,_ Alicia." Scott pulls me up a little by the neck of my jacket and bores his covered eyes into mine. "When are you going to ever find a _fucking_ _purpose_ in your life?" And with that, he drops me back onto the floor and swiftly turns around, followed by the rest of the Xmen. Not even Bobby makes eye contact with me, and I realise with a stab to my chest that they'd all discussed then and agreed on this prior, on my…_expulsion. _

The slam of the front door triggers the water works from me. Like a little girl, I wrap my arms around myself and stumble into the closest room, the common room and fall into the couch. Large heaving sobs shake the cushions, and I end up in the foetal position, making these wailing animal noises as if I've been neutered.

Why does it hurt so much? I'm Alicia Austin, infamous, ass kicking, sarcastic fire mutant; the rogue X-girl who sneaks off to team up with Deadpool and Spidey on Friday nights in New York. I never get gushy, or sad or even peeved when people shout at me; everyone knows not to give me responsibility of _anything_, just to accept my help when I'm giving it, no questions asked to my bipolar habits. I'm not allowed to give a _flying flagon of firewiskey_ about what Scott or anyone else says. I've spent so much time sneaking out of the Institute; it shouldn't matter to me that they've finally kicked me out.

But it does. And I hate that it does so fucking badly.

This dull pain in my head and chest accompanies this wash of self-loathing that I haven't felt since I was 13, and discovered that I could throw fireballs and fly and stuff. I'd found out when Paul, my step dad was screaming that I'd forgotten to buy the groceries, and he'd slapped me; I'd started quivering uncontrollably, remembering the last time, _when he promised that he would stop, and that he was 'sorry'_. Only instead of leaving me with a few bruises and cuts on the floor, he started to scream and writhe on the floor. Locked under my gaze, these burn marks started appearing all over him, blotchy and red like my vision. I'd felt taller, powerful and for once, in control; that euphoric feeling of freedom, mixed with tingling nerves. I wasn't even sure that I was doing it, that it wasn't just a dream. All I could do was watch and try to look sad when the Professor showed up moments later and told me to _control myself_. Which I evidently cannot do, and only stopped when Paul started to catch fire and stop moving, snapping me out of my fiery trance. I was happy to blame that on the fact that I was 'too young to control myself'. But one look from Xavier and I knew that he knew I had full power over myself. The self-loathing came later, when Paul passed in hospital a few days later, and even then only because Xavier pummelled it into me that what I'd done was '_wrong'_. That I'd gone '_too far'_.

After a while, I notice the sticky, half dried tears on my face, once my breathing turns to steady, deep one. I concentrate on the stretching of my rib cage, and snuggle into the pillows, as if someone's holding me. I ignore my pathetic worries, try to forget my realisations of my lack of 'honour' and 'purpose', as Scott said. Wade doesn't have either of those, and he's always happy, right? After concluding that I'd soon get packed and head for his apartment, I spend another few minutes in a huddle staring ahead, before going on autopilot with the TV and DVD player.

Start…Menu…No subtitles…Play. A rumbling in my stomach orders me to grab a coke and a tub of Ben and Jerry's that has a sticky note reading 'HANDS OFF' from the fridge.

The Fellowship Of The Ring clouds my mind, pushing out my anxiety. The heroic music fills my brain with images of me kicking everyone's ass and saving Middle Earth. I don't care about what's going to happen. I rarely do to be honest, or at least that's what everyone else says. And as I drift off, I barely notice the TV screen burst in a swarm of purple smoke before it caresses me into a deep, dreamless sleep. Probably just some crappy CGI from the extended edition.

**Helloooooooooooo, Renzin here!**

**I hope you like this intro, please review and favourite an all that jazz! **

**Im thinking of drawing my protagonist, but for now I'll say that when powered up she looks like a fire demon, with these fleshy dragon like scales, essentially a walking bonfire. In normal form, Alicia is 5'10", has a fair complexion, blue eyes, plump lips and thick brunette curls. She's fairly curvy, but is muscular and has martial arts and gymnastics training. Like her element, she's fiery, doesn't know when enough's enough and constantly is flirting without realising, despite the fact she's never dated.**

**Peace out!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to either the Xmen or LOFT franchise.**

Chapter 2

Having the ability to fly in a fiery inferno solidifies the utter euphoria of safety that I feel in the air; the infinite space, the way the air rushes through you're body, cleansing it with each breath. But as calming as it is in the air, I've never woken up because the wind is ripping my dust-crusted eyelashes apart and peeling away the moisture. That's how I awake from my hazy purple dreams. Floods of white mist surrounds me, then as I realise what's happening they part, and I'm hurtling towards a large expanse of green forest and blindingly white buildings. I think I'm screaming; my mouth is stretched open and my vocal chords are horribly sore, but the gushing wind in my ears is all I can here. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit…

_Wait a second, I'm a mutant._

_*facepalm*_

I power up so close the ground I can see a group of people in an open roofed chamber, their basic features of hair length and colour of robes registering to my eyes. I try pulling out of my nosedive, but I can't slow down enough against gravity, so I settle for trying to aim in the centre of the gathering and hope that none of them abruptly moves into my landing strip.

"_Aieieiieiieiieiieieieiieieiieeieiiaaaaaaaaa-"_

A sharp roar shoots out of me from the impact and the stone floor caves in to hug my sides. I groan, shuddering as blackness engulfs me, but then clears away seconds later. As I look up, a shitty sight meets my eyes.

Every single one of those motherfuckers that I tried my hardest not to crash into is glaring at me, over half pointing swords, arrows and even a few axes at me.

_I can't catch a fucking break here can I? _First Scott refuses to let me fight, and the one time I listen, I'm teleported into hell.

I sigh as I let my head bounce against the floor. Childish thoughts enter my head. I scrunch up my eyes and hum, then I hear the return of voices and a hard prod with a sword end, "On your feet, sorceress!"

"No fucking way, I am not gonna be ordered around in _my_ dream!"

_Denial much, Alicia? No way is this a dream. _

"How dare y-"

"LALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALA-" I'm cut off by a foot landing in my gut, which kicks off my instincts to grab at it and twist it with a crunch, pulling and launching myself backwards into a catlike crouch.

I bend back at the waist, matrix style, from the hail of arrows and roll to the side under a sweeping long sword, striking sharp japs into the abdomen to immobilise the core I grab his torso and throw it towards the grouping of blonde archers, and proceed to block and attack my way around my opponents, my breath controlled with measured and timed actions. I'm still alight, the heat making the weaker fighters hesitate. The flames shudder with every movement, trailing behind me like a bubbling cloak. It would be fatal, if I _was_ aiming to kill. As I launch my last aerial kick at a short axe-wielding ginger, I roar a firestorm 360 degrees around me to clear my area, ready to launch at the last few standing, when I spot a tall cloaked figure with a ligneous staff, poised against me. I freeze in utter shock.

Gandalf the Grey is in front of me.

As in the wizard from LOFT.

The leader of the Fellowship.

As in the one which is from a book. A story.

_To classify: not reality._

I gape at him like a fish as my brain tries to reason that he must be real, as I've established that I'm not dreaming. I have this pathetic urge to run and hug him and tell him to send me home and get rid of the baddies. But _that_ little fantasy is struck down when he shouts in a booming voice, "Who dares enter the realm of Rivendell with such motives of war?"

I can't reply for a second. My flames flicker out, leaving an ashy smoke from the shock as I revert to my non-scaly form. I don't even struggle when two people clasp my hands behind me and push me to my knees. Gandalf is all I can comprehend. The striking similarities between Ian Mckellen and him are endless; the fierce blue eyes, thorny grey beard, furrowing wrinkles and billowing dawn sky robes.

"Speak now!"

Another shove, then a silken voice hisses, "Answer or I will cut out that useless muscle in your mouth." I snarl and take the opportunity of their slackening grips to roll forward to stand directly in front of the wizard. Without a seconds thought I lazily raise my hands above my hands, refusing to be dominated. "I pose no threat to your mission. I mistook you for an enemy."

You know, 'cause you _fucking __**attacked**_ me.

A gasp of shock was followed by scrambled mumbling at my knowledge. I guess having a girl who's read and watched their future literally fall in on their secret meeting wasn't on the schedule.

_*Sigh*, It __**never**__ is._

"What do you know of us? Are you spy for Sauron?"

I snorted. "If I wanted to sneak up on you guys, you wouldn't know I _existed_."

A tall man with long brown locks, a silver headband and hawk like eyes steps next to Gandalf, who is _still_ pointing his staff at me. "What creature are you, and what is your purpose here if not to corrupt my kingdom's peace?"

I gasp, breaking my 'immakickyourass' persona. "Oh my god, YOU'RE Lord Elrond!"

Said Lord narrowed his eyes even more. "You know my face, yet show surprise at finding me in my own palace; what sort of minion of Sauron are you?"

"Duuuuuddeeeee. You've got it all wrong; I'm kinda new here, and most certainly have never- nor want to- work for a floating eye in Mordor." I sigh, pinching my nose. "Ok this will seem unbelieveable. Crazy even-"

"-You shall say it and let us decide that." Gandalf interjected.

I gave him a lethargic smile, which he painfully did not return. "Fine then. My name is Alicia Austin, and I am a mutant. I don't know how exactly I got here, but I'm not from this world; I errr… fell asleep and woke up falling from the sky and crashed- by accident I may add- in your fortress of solitude."

_Pffft Elrond certainly has the 'laser vision' to be Superman_.

I'm relieved to see everyone's face reveal an emotion other than 'letsgutalicia', even if it is of incredulous shock. However, the humming silence is broken by the short stump of ginger, whose face I had introduced my foot to previously, waddle into my view. "You really expect us to believe that you hobbit of a dragon!"

Nice.

Pick on the girl 'cause she grows scales to prevent her fucking flesh _BURNING OFF._

Everyone leaps back a bit as my hair relights and I roar at him in fury. "Fuck you shortie, go stick yourself in the mud and be a good little carrot." The red face man shouts in anger and rushes forward, wielding his heavy axe again. I swiftly catch the axe in one hand, and lock eyes with him as he watches with wide eyes, his axe burning bright orange and melting in my grip. The dwarf yelps and lets go, falling backwards to a group of 4 shaking hobbits.

Or mini-men, as I like to call them.

"Enough!" Elrond barks before the rest of them lunge at me. I obediently power down yet again, shaking the viscous metal off my hands. I try not to cringe as Elrond glares at me for what seems like a century, until he says "You say these things with no deceit in your eyes, yet your manner is what still makes us wary."

"That's not my intention, sir."

He ignores my formality. "Prove your tale to me. How do you know of the fellowship that has only formed moments to your arrival?"

"My would is just called Earth; I'm not sure if it's the future version of Middle Earth or not, 'cause our technology is a ton of years ahead of yours, I think. Your journey to destroy the ring is just a story where I come from, a frictional book. And I can prove it-" I point at people I recognise "You're Frodo, Bildo's nephew, who stole the ring from Gollum years ago; you're his gardener, Samgee, and along with Merry and Pippin, you all come from the Shire." I supress a smirk at the collective gasping, and turn again, trying to pick out people who fit Tolkien's descriptions. "You're… Boromir, right? From Gondor, with the crazy daddy. And you must be…oh shit you're Aragon!" I look back and forth at the two men. "That's awkward…" I finally turn to a blonde figure, with pointed ears and an armed bow aimed at me. "You have to be Legolas, then. I have to ask, is that your natural hair colour, or do you bleach it?" The elf was a horribly feminine version of Orlando Bloom, looking like a strong breeze would launch him into the air. Like the other elves, he had glowing skin and smooth long hair, but the hallows of his cheeks gave him a sickeningly unnatural look. I ignored the crying of my inner fangirl and returned his icy glare.

The elf's Ken doll nose flared in fury. "A correct assumption. Do not tease my arrow from its sheath any more, _balrog _spawn!"

"Oh you wound me, Regina George." My rolling eyes leave the enraged elf's, and settle on the steaming ginger dwarf finally. "And finally, 'Gimli, son of Gloin'! I do hope your axe has insurance."

Hail me, Queen of Sarcasm.

I'm interrupted by the clearing of Gandalf's throat, and am more than slightly relieved that he isn't threatening to impale me with a stick anymore. "And what of the Lord of Rivendell and I; what doting words do you bestow on us?" 

I pause for a second. Then, I softly answer, "You are Gandalf the Grey, who lights up the path against all the bad guys. You… give strength to those who don't have any. And Lord Elrond, I don't know much about you, other than you are a wise and kind leader here. Though you're kinda terrifying me with your laser eyes at the moment."

I push away the image of Scott. What I said was true; I'd even drawn Gandalf from the action figure doll I got at the tender age of 15. He was the guy you wanted to be with, leading humanity to victory against the hordes of orcs and shit. Elrond was the big chief around here, and while I knew he was a force of good, I could help but notice the unnerving accuracy that Hugo Weaving pulled off his character's iconic death stare.

"Continue with your case. The information you have bestowed simply confirms the possibility that you are a well informed spy." Elrond says.

"Right, ok erm…" I take a moment to rifle through my brain. "Samgee! Yeah you, you have a crush on that barmaid back at the Shire right? And when you first met Bilbo, Gandalf, you said 'Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on'."

To my relief, Gandalf rewards me with a tiny smile, murmuring, "Yes, I remember that meeting well." From Sam's blushing, no one bothers to question if I was right about _him_. "Perhaps, you do speak the truth, but we must be certain. Stand still for a moment, child." I comply nervously, as he raises his glowing staff to my face, gently taping it on my forehead. The minute it makes contact with my skin, I get this overwhelming sensation of it sucking, like a vacuum through my mind.

_Don't resist Alicia, I've got to show them I'm on their side. _

Just as my cranium seems to tighten and grow sore, the feelings gone, the room returns into view and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Gandalf looks deeply into the stone at the tip of his staff, blowing a little on it, as if to coax a burning ember. He seems lost for a second in its halo of light, and then slowly leans back up again. Gandalf's crows feet are bunched together, his eyebrows stretched and rivers of wrinkles around his mouth are bunched into dimples.

Holy shit he's smiling.

"Our flammable friend here is no foe, but quite the fiend, I dare say." His blue eyes are now warm and twinkling with humour, "Tell me, what was the punishment for the burning of those men's undergarments?"

Suddenly I'm grinning, at the memory of me running around the mansion, laughing with Bobby, Scott and Remy chasing after me like I was a witch in Stuart times. "Laundry duty for a month, and a earlier curfew." Tolkien never mentioned Gandalf has the power of facilitated telepathy. Just a tiny detail he missed.

The confused muttering from everyone else interrupts our pleasantries, so Gandalf fills them in. "The lady Alicia is a hero amongst her people, a soldier against her world's evil. She is no threat to us, or our cause, I can assure you. Though your journey to our world is still a mystery to even you, am I right?"

"You betcha. One minute I'm watching you guys in a movie – err, it's like a play- and the next I wake up falling at a zillion mph!" My hair shudders in motion with my bobbing head and gesticulations.

"How can a _balrog_'s spawn possibly fight for the light?" Legolas's silken voice rang out. I swivelled to face him, one hand on my hip and the other pointing at him like a dagger. "What the hell is that?"

He sneered at me, the bones of his face straining from his lack of fat stores. "Do you not know the name of your kin, oh fire demon?"

"Listen here you albino rodent, I am NOT a spawn of a demon, I am a goddamn mutant!" A belch of flames shoot out, making Legolas jump into the hot potato dance. I ignored the traitorous flames to my point. "My powers are in my genetics, my blood, not from some voodoo devil, bitch!"

You know what, it's the best feeling to know that you've scared a little punk shitless, which I why I'm so glad I'm a motherfucking dragon (minus the wings and size) instead of a healer.

However the effect of dampening the Barbie elf's pants was ruined by Gandalf's hearty chuckles. I scowled when I saw that even Elrond was smirking a little. At least they don't mind my potty mouth. "It seems that our…mutant friend is amorous to humour."

Elrond's eyes were dancing with amusement, his face transformed from its previous iron mask. "She wields her tongue with a unique flair, that is true."

"I'm flattered." I say with a grin and curtsy.

_Boy these guys are nice when you're on their side._

"If the lady is not foe to us, then what is our next action my Lord?" Aragon says. I can fully take him in now. He's far manlier than the elves, with a chocolate beard and a few tanned scars; you can tell he's royal by the way he holds himself, and reminds me of Sir Lancelot. Aragon looks like he's in his late 30s (dammit), and I can't help but smile warmly at him.

"Perhaps she could join our fellowship, Lord Elrond? She has knowledge of what lies ahead, and is a formidable force. I see little of a dragon's greed within her."

Boromir scoffs. "You would let a crazed wench trail behind us, great wizard?"

"Yeah well this 'wench' just kicked your ass with her bare hands dude." I snarl. Of course, there has to be at least one guy trying to rub his balls in my face. Elrond raises a hand, silencing the returning murmurs. "Control your tongues, both of you. Boromir, I do not think that will be the case, Gandalf says that she is a soldier in her world, correct?" I nod obediently. "You know of the burden Frodo is to carry, the One Ring, a weapon Sauron must never wield again. Be wary, it is cunning, with the nature of its master. Would you be willing to share our burden?"

Oh god, they want me to be the 10th walker.

_Fuck yes!_

I'm a little too occupied with my goldfish impersonation to talk, so I just nod like my brains are spaghetti.

"Good. It was my wish that you would agree."

"You can't be serious, my Lord. She just fell out of the sky moments ago!" Legolas screeches.

"Like an…an angel!"

"…"

We all look down at Pippin Took, who's staring at me with slightly dazed and glassy eyes. I'm not really used to people looking at me like _that._ Fear, awe, lust, irritation, hate, sure. But Pippin's kinda looking at me the way I look at candyfloss…

I suppress a shudder, but a hot blush reaches my cheeks.

_Shake it off babes._

I suddenly realise how tight this suit is. It kinda cups my butt with the Kevlar plates as well.

"Anyway….cheers munchkin!"

"Alicia." Gandalf scolds.

"You called?" I reply sweetly.

Elrond calls for order again. "Enough, it is final. Alicia Austin has valuable information, the knowledge of our future." He turns his gaze onto me, "You must be careful; guide the fellowship with the awareness that you wield, but know that the imminent time after the present is constantly morphed with possibilities. Do not rely on the tale and conclusion you know of our journey. With your mere presence, you shape our outcome."

"Okie dokie chief!" Yet again, humour shields me from what I comprehend of Elrond's pep talk.

"This meeting of the fellowship shall end. Gandalf, Aragon, Legolas, Boromir, Gimli, the 4 master hobbits and you, the flame of possibility, Lady Alicia. You must hasten on your journey within the next few days. Everyday, Sauron grows stronger. Any provisions and equipment you may need will be provided for."

After a few interject praises of gratitude, everyone disperses, leaving the fellowship to follow Elrond down a long silver corridor with open windows and long lilac and blue drapes. I trail on after them, and realise that the elfish Lord is walking with them to their rooms. They all bid their farewells and peel off, some giving me smiles (Gandalf, Aragon, the hobbits) or dark sneers (Legolas, Gimli and Boromir). Finally I was alone with Elrond, and he opens the door to my room, beckoning me to enter. Like the elves themselves, the chamber shone with a silvery glow. Shining cream walls and a grey stone floor encase the room, with green cotton drapes skimming the floor around the entrance to an oval balcony. Wooden furniture adorns the room, with smooth curved carvings and a baked bread complexion. As I'm drawn into the room, I gasp at the view; the forest of lush green I see from my descent before surrounds us, with bridges and buildings flowing into view here and there. Oceans of flowering creepers and ivy wrapped around pillars, and racing up the walls. Distantly, I can the sound of running water, and the rocky walls of a pass beyond Rivendell.

It's breath-taking.

The humming of voices surrounded us, and because the building's curved into an arch, I can see Frodo leaning out of his own balcony, the gentle warm breeze ruffling his dark curls.

"Lord Elrond, this place is stunning. I really am… I mean I'm…I'm sorry. About, you know, destroying your floor and disrupting the peace."

His small smile calms my frazzled nerves. "Think nought of it child. I, myself owe you an apology, of my company wielding our blades upon you."

"You didn't know, I could've been a…a balrog!"

"True, that was a possibility. Your origins are still unique to Middle Earth. Are mutants kin to Man, or Elf?"

"Man, I think; we're…the evolved version, but most appear human. I'm, err, no was part of the Xmen. They're like, a group of mutants, fighting for our rights, 'cause some people hate us, or want to use our abilities." I tense a little, Paul's face blinking in my mind, "But there are also mutants who think it's right to kill normal men, that we're superior. They're _weak_. The Xmen keep them in check too."

"I understand. You agree with the other mutants? The ones who hunt the common man?"

"…I can see their point." I furrow my brow, struggling to verbalise my thoughts. "Mutants are superior, in most ways but…we aren't gods. We shouldn't take it upon ourselves to be judge, jury and executioner."

"You are ambitious; you would not refuse glory." Elrond states.

"_I would not kill innocents!" _A guttural snarl escapes my throat. I clench my fists, trying to fight away the green of fresh scales, but Elrond surprises me taking my hands and gently prying them apart. My shaky eyes look into his, though he only pats my hands to calm me, not even wincing from my boiling heat.

"I am glad to hear you say this."

He's still holding me, cradling my fingers and freezing me with his paternal affection. It feels awkward, like when you pick up a hobby without years of practicing it, and everything feels stiff.

_Paul's fault._

The motherfucker_. _Literally.

Elrond releases my hands, which are numb and scale less now. "You shall be provided with clothes and other necessities. You fight well with your naked skill, however there are weapons available in our armoury."

"I didn't think Rivendell was a war nation."

"No, we are not like our kin in Mirkwood. However many know the art of war, and we are prepared in these darkening times." A morose cloud swept over Elrond's face, but it faded swiftly into his usual, scrutinising gaze. "You are…strange, Alicia Austin. Perhaps the Lady Galadriel can shed light on you?"

"She's in Lothlorien, right?"

"Correct."

I'm suddenly excited at the prospect of meeting her, and also…queasy? I guess I'm nervous. That's understandable though; she's Middle Earth equivalent of a Goddess!

I'm brought back from my musings to the soft swish of Elrond's robes as he leaves, closing the door behind him. So I'm alone. The guest of Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I'm about to go on a trilogy worth mission to defeat Sauron, who is essentially the wannabee devil.

It's official.

….I'm a badass.

After a skim through my room, I go through a side door into a bathroom, a large metal tub already filled with water, and at the sight of it I suddenly feel filthy. I quickly strip down, a small groan leaving me at the release of my skin. Easing myself into the tub, I absentmindedly note that since I've only just powered down, the water feels like an ice bath. The ivory soap smells like milk, tree sap and honey, and smooths my nose in waves.

I only leave when I'm literally squeaky clean, and my body temperature is back to it's normal 48 degrees Celsius. Cause I am (scientifically) the hottest girl at all times.

What's that you say? Vain?

To quote the Book of Mormon, 'hasa diga'.

I get out and project flames again for a second, leaving me completely dry but for the ends of my hair. Walking back into the main part of my chamber, I yelp when I remember the balcony and flatten myself down. After a flushed few minutes of listening for any outraged elves rushing in to spank me (or worse, lecture me), I giggle quietly when I notice a bundle of clothes, folded on the dressing table.

Being a highly trained, stealthy ex-Xman, I hone in on the skills that call for such a task.

Right. _You get the idea. _

I've been left with a various array of outfits, some long cotton or silk dresses, a few loose trousers and shirts, and then a collection of leather plates, obviously for the formation of a set of light armour. Three pairs of boots lie on the floor, with a single pair of cotton slip on pumps.

Thank god that someone noted the fact that I need to be able to fight in what I wear.

I'm as giddy as Deadpool on a killing spree.

I shamelessly check myself out in the vanity mirror, twirling and posing like a little girl. I'm clothed in bottle green trousers, a white cotton shirt and brown leather armour that resembles the shape of a one piece bathing suit, with high sides and an open front, held together with criss-crossing, thick leather straps. A utility belt hangs off of my hips; it's circular, silver buckle identical to those on my torso. More leather plates are strapped over my arms as gauntlets, and against my thighs and knees, so that along with my boots, it looks like I'm wearing thigh-high boots. Finally, a weathered khaki cloak and hood covers me, fixed into place with a milky white jewel, lined with iron to pin it down. I'm particularly pleased with the brown gloves. They're stiff with lack of use and aren't very flexible yet, but the back of my hand, knuckles, and planes between the joints on the backs of my fingers are adorned with metal. I realllllllllyyyyy what to punch a punk now. Oh Legolas…..


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to either the Xmen or LOFT franchise.**

Chapter 3

Apart from the obvious staring and gossiping from everyone, Rivendell is the bee's knees. It's been three days since my aerial arrival, but progress has been made at least. The mean girls (Legolas, Gimli and Boromir) still hate my guts, though Gimli apparently said I wasn't a waste of space as long as I kept my mouth shut.

No really, I'm flattered.

Gandalf's been fucking awesome though; he spends a lot of time with me, asking questions about home, telling me about Middle Earth and stuff. It's nice that he doesn't look at me sceptically, even when I tell him that people can get to the other side of the world in metal 'birds' in a matter of hours, though he only believes me 'cause he read my mind. I guess beggars can't be choosy, and my social calendar indicates that I have leprosy so far.

I rarely see Aragon or Elrond, though when I do it's only at meals, which we take in this huge hall filled with banquet tables and the elfish nobility. The hobbits, on the other hand, seem to have a knack for popping out of shadows and scaring the life out of me.

Sam's still a little embarrassed around me after I outed him about the barmaid; I'm guessing the others interrogated him about it afterwards. Frodo, I haven't really talked since he's fairly quiet, and is usually good at maintaining awkward silences. Merry and Pippin though, are another matter; I think the only moment their not following me is when I'm in my own room. Pippin's got this glazed over expression every time I talk to him, and takes every opportunity to give me apples in exchange for holding hands, though he hasn't tried that again since I went all pyro on him. Merry fits his name well, and actually surprised me with being rather witty. Though I don't really understand some of the phrases he spouts out, he's got a wicked sense of humour, and knows the boundaries of personal space.

Or course the first thing I did after I changed was run down to the armoury and raid it like 'Captain' Sparrow. I've equipped myself with throwing knives, hidden in their leather sheathes within my layers of clothing, as well as two staffs that remind me of the bo staff I trained with before. They're made of a bronzed wood, with a metal grip and short, pointed blade; they're also extremely light, easy to manuver and take my weight for suspended attacks and such. I've tied little strips of braided cloth and feathers to the ends, ignoring the fact that know one here will recognise the whole Pocahontas effect I was going for.

I managed to find a sword which reminds me of a cross between a katana and a Spanish tapered sword. One of the forgers told me that its used in duels and by lone rangers, not often in battle. I've strapped it to my back, underneath my cloak after practicing with it. It's so light I have to be careful not to get carried away and cut myself, but can easily pierce flesh. I've also made sure to ask the forger elves for cleaning supplies and sharpening stones, 'cause I'd rather not be in a fight and get chomped on by some orcs because my blades fucking broke.

The rest of my time has been spent reading or scouting the area by air and on the roofs. No one seems bothered by my random outbreaks of singing, as long as I keep it PG. No kidding, the elves are into life mates, so many are like 100 years old and are blushing when I sing about 'chains and whips' exciting me. Prudes.

I tried finding sanctuary in the stables, though the elf that runs them, Faevel, is kinda a pervert. Well, as much as an elf can be. Their equivalent to slapping asses is a kiss (or in Faevel's case, sloppy kiss) to the hand, though I didn't realise until I heard all the elves gossiping later at dinner about it. Apparently though, It gave Elrond reason to 'save my virtue', and Faevel's been banned from talking to me again, and has been demoted to one of the stable hands now.

On our third and final day, the fellowship and I ate breakfast with the elves one last time, gathered our stuff and met up at the far gate. Other than the clothes and equipment I've already been given, we all now have food provisions and camping apparatus, though Sam seems to be the one whose stuck with all the pans and ladles. I'm intently staring at the shining bulk of Rivendell behind us, briefly wondering whether I'll regret this. I'm kicking away the dust at my feet, smooth the path and then brushing the dirt back again to repeat the process. I know most people do this when their nervous, but I've always found this quiet entertaining. A hand rests on my shoulder, and I unleash a genuine smile when I see who it is.

"Lord Elrond! I was worried that I'd missed saying goodbye."

He betrays a grin, squeezing my shoulder before letting go. "I would have ridden after you to say so. Your vivacious company will be missed; indeed, the youth will have to find a new source of topic with your departure."

"I aim to please chief." I do a mock bow. "I need my fans to be a star."

"Perhaps a beacon of flames is a better analogy?"

"Probably. I've got to thank you for everything again, you elves are pretty awesome apart from Legolas."

Elrond chuckles, then gestures me to my horse. "You will ride Ohtar, a former warhorse, whose rider died 2 years ago."

I try to look unfazed as a huge mountain horse is lead up to me, black with blurs of burgundy here and there. His hooves alone were bigger than my calves, loud stops as he's lead towards me, with a pissed off expression. Faevel is holding the reigns far away as possible, and after a narrow eyed leer at me, he quickly retreats. Ohtar makes eye contact with me, and I swear my soul has decided to hide under the bed. It takes a few seconds for me snap out of it and start strapping my bags to the saddle, though I flinch a little when he huffs and glares at me.

_It's love at first sight_. I can see it now, the two of us riding to Mordor.

Finally everyone's mounted and ready, including myself after scrambling up Ohtar and ignoring his aggressive neighing. The gate is pulled open, and Gandalf leads us out, with Aragon at the rear. I look back as I hear the musical farewells of the elves, as the sounds of Ohtar's hooves are muffled by the moss-ridden floor of the forest.

My excitement is dampened slightly by the cold pit at the bottom of my stomach, that foreboding dread; this is just another training session in the Danger Room after all. But as quickly as it arises, I burn it away and squeeze my thighs on Ohtar to pick up the pace.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

On our first night, I set Boromir's spare clothes on fire.

Gandalf storms down from his side of the camp and swiftly puts it out with his staff. "Alicia, if you choose to act like a demon, then you cannot condemn those who call you a balrog."

"But the jackass told Sam to stop cooking and make me do it! I'm not a fucking maid!"

Said jackass shouts "The wench is crazy Gandalf! Kill her before she burns us to sinders!"

"Oh don't worry about that," I snarl, "I prefer my prey raw."

After that, I was sentenced to clean the pots and be on watch, however Legolas decides he doesn't trust me, and stays up as well. By midnight, everyone else is asleep, and the two of us have been glaring at each other for an hour or so. His cloak is pulled up to hide from the cold, though his ashy hair seems to illuminate his icy blue eyes. I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, then proceed to braid a strand of hair from behind my ear. It takes a matter of seconds, so I replace the lock with another.

After 5 braids, Legolas pipes up.

"Why are you here?"

I look up at him, a little surprised and confused. "S'no reason to it, I didn't really mean to fall into your laps."

"Don't pretend to be a fool, balrog. Why are you here with us, with the fellowship? You will not survive betraying us."

"Why don't you stop being a dick, Legolas. I'm not the enemy, they are." I gesture to our black landscape, pretending that it's the direction of Mordor. "In my world, this is a story, one of my favourites actually, and now I've got a chance to be a part of it. In my world, I fight against power hungry villains like Sauron and Sarumon; I know that they're the cause of countless ruined lives, and I try to stop them from ruining anymore." I kick the dust a little awkwardly considering my legs are crossed, and look down, hoping my hood will cover my watering eyes.

We don't speak again, until the sky lightens to a stormy blue, light up by an infinite number of stars. I'm looking up at them, mesmerised, when Legolas mutters something inaudible. My sleepy gaze is drawn to the elf, and I jump a little when I see that he's moved to my side of the fire. "What did you say?"

"I apologize. For my behaviour before, and my inability to consider that you are not a threat to us."

"Oh," I realise I'm frowning, so smooth my face into a pleasant smirk, "No problaimo Barbie."

Legolas pauses, trying to digest my answer. "You are not upset?"

"You were just doing your job! I would've thought the same if you fell into my world when Xmen were working up a top secret mission and shit."

"I see…"

The minutes tick by, or not, since there are no clocks here. Legolas pipes up again, "You are generous in your forgiveness, and quick to speak to me like a friend, even though mere hours ago we were ready to fight like a pair of wargs over a piece of meat. I am thankful."

Was that a compliment?

"Thanks Legolas, s'nice to be appreciated. Do me a favour and get Gimli of my back as well? I don't feel like having a massage with an axe to be honest."

Legolas nods, and smiles. It's small, but I can make it out due to the way his skin painfully tightens like a rubber band.

Guess that counts as a peace treaty.


End file.
